"This is your assassination target. Take Blackfyre and carry out the mission. Blackfyre is in the room on the third floor, beneath the wall of masks, but you are not to take any of the masks." The expressionless temple attendant, wearing a black and white cloak, departed coldly—in fact, his words could be simply understood as, "Go, and don't come back."
Viserys, facing his back, still recited the words, "Valar Morghulis! Valar Dohaeris—"
The black and white cloak drifted away, disappearing into the darkness.
Only the sound of water flowing in the pool could be heard in the main hall. Thirty statues stood silently, and not a single Faceless Priest came to see him off. Viserys shrugged and walked into the rock tunnel by himself, ascending to the third floor. Many faces hung on the wall, pale and downcast, encompassing men and women, old and young, beautiful and ugly, fat and thin—some of which he had peeled off with his own hands!
The light was dim, but the object placed on the ground emitted a different kind of light. It was a Valyrian steel longsword, the blade dark like the night, and a pigeon egg-sized ruby was inlaid on the hilt. Viserys remembered from history class that the ruby crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror at his coronation matched the sword perfectly. When he was cremated, the dragon Vhagar breathed fire, and the Blackfyre sword was held in the dead king's hand. After being bathed in fire, its color deepened but it was not damaged in the slightest.
That's it—hahahaha! Blackfyre, the ancestral sword, was carefully wrapped by Viserys in linen, slung over his back, and he strode out of the House of Black and White's gate with a flourish. He looked back and sincerely performed a nobleman's bow and shoulder lift to the door of weirwood and ebony: Thank you.
"I am not a nameless person, I am Viserys Targaryen."
Two years had passed since he first called himself a nameless person. Viserys was almost twelve years old, the age when boys in the Westeros Continent began to experience life. The blood of the true dragon made the young prince tall, and constant sword training kept him slender. Coupled with his fair skin and purple eyes, he considered himself a handsome and beautiful Targaryen—of course, he still couldn't compare to his brother's peerless appearance. He looked at his reflection by the water, and thought with excitement, "My brother will be surprised to see me! When I go back, I'll go to the Wall first to have Bloodraven fulfill his promise, and then I can go straight to my brother!!"
He moved lightly between the stone bridges, and some of the water dancers on the side of the road saw him and greeted him warmly. Half a year ago, at the anniversary celebration of the Braavosi masks, this young man with silver hair had defeated all the water dancers with his sword. He fought beautifully, as agile as lightning, as silent as a mountain, and his attacks were as fierce as fire. His reactions with a sword were faster than anyone else's, as if he had an extra pair of eyes.
Viserys Targaryen returned to the snow-white marble mansion with a silver dome in the rich district of Lys. Fountains welcomed guests with a gurgling sound at the entrance, and four or five lazy cats were lying in the shade of the courtyard. The stained-glass windows were open, and Tyrion and his swordsmanship instructor, Syrio Forel, were dining. Fresh grape leaves wrapped around lamb with rice, matsutake mushrooms, and onions, as well as crab soup, wine-soaked foie gras, and a small roasted suckling pig, with a roasted apple stuffed in its mouth.
"Perfect!" Viserys Targaryen sat directly at the table and took a big bite of the roasted apple.
The relationship between the few of them was very close. Except for Sandor Clegane, who still stood behind Tyrion and refused to eat with them, and didn't even smile, but Viserys Targaryen knew that Sandor Clegane thought life here was much more comfortable than back home. After Gregor Clegane died, he felt lost for a while, as if he had lost his goal in life, and inexplicably became the chieftain he didn't want to be. He was often asked to become a knight to revitalize the Clegane family, and some people, not knowing whether they were alive or dead, treated his dead brother as a role model. "If Gregor Clegane hadn't died, he would have been a knight by now."
So Sandor Clegane followed Tyrion without hesitation. On the continent of Essos, no one was surprised that he would squat down and silently stroke a sleek, well-fed cat.
Viserys Targaryen contentedly ate the rice, which had the refreshing fragrance of leaves in the summer, and told Tyrion that he was about to plan to return to Westeros, and that he estimated he would go alone first. Syrio Forel and Tyrion would probably be able to return to the continent together in half a year. "It's very simple if you want to find me, just look where Rhaegar Targaryen is."
Tyrion said it was fine.
"How is Tysha?"
"Yes, she's about to give birth. I remember how bad the morning sickness was at first, she couldn't even look at food without wanting to throw up. But now she eats six times a day and is resting in her room." Tyrion scratched his head. "When she wakes up from her nap, I'll take her for a walk in the courtyard to prevent any complications during labor."
Viserys nodded. Then, he asked Tyrion if he could borrow some of Tysha's clothes, cosmetics, and some jewelry.
Tyrion, looking at his friend, who was a killer trained in some religious organization, didn't ask any questions and nodded.
##
Viserys was wearing a cream-colored linen robe, with a matching veil that only revealed his violet eyes. His long silver hair cascaded down his back, and he wore a forehead ornament with a purple amethyst pendant. As he walked, his silver sandals were visible – good, he looked like a beautiful Valyrian girl!
He carried a basket of fragrant spices and lavender and headed towards the Moon Singer's Temple in Braavos. There, in the city's most luxurious theater, a grand play was being performed. Courtesans, adorned with gold and jewels, were escorted by the hands of trade magnates. The audience also included wealthy moneylenders from the Iron Bank, Braavosi officials, and others, all with their own boxes. His final assassination target was sitting in one of them.
This man was the wealthiest slave owner in Meereen, having once purchased six thousand slaves at once. Braavos didn't welcome slave traders, but it did accept the master of the Daznak family who was here to spend extravagantly on courtesans – and the one who wanted him dead was a former courtesan. She came from Volantis, and had sacrificed her beauty, her enchanting eyes, and all her possessions to the God of Many Faces, asking to have this man killed.
"My sister, Ilyana, was deceived by him under the guise of love! Braavos protects its citizens from becoming slaves, hahaha, but it can't control him! My sister… my sister, after arriving in Meereen, was discarded by him and, ultimately, fed to the lions!"
The vengeful man, teeth gritted, revealed some of the man's basic predilections: he was fond of young girls, which was why he'd taken the
The slaver suddenly widened his eyes. Down below, in the first row of the stands, he saw a beauty!
Her silver hair was dazzling, the best jewelry a woman could have! Her face was beautiful and had a childlike innocence, no older than thirteen – perfect! Her figure hadn't matured yet! Her chest was flat, untouched by men! He saw her carrying a basket, selling flowers!
The slaver immediately sent someone to fetch this beauty. He bought all the flowers in her basket.
She arrived quickly, her face half-veiled, her beauty faintly visible but undeniable. What delighted the slaver most was that the beauty, who perfectly suited his tastes, had a pair of beautiful purple eyes!
The slaver took off the large gold emerald ring on his finger and offered it to her.
She seemed to be mute, unable to speak, gazing at the generous man with her purple eyes – looking pitiful. When she shook her head slightly, the purple pendant hanging from her forehead swayed – like her third eye was shedding tears.
The slaver immediately decided he would take this beauty, who completely suited his tastes, into his possession. Now, in the box, he wanted her first.
So, Daznak sent the Black Pearl away, who was far less refined. He ordered the velvet curtains of the box to be drawn tightly – the courtesan stormed off in a rage, glaring fiercely at the flower seller she'd never seen before, vowing never to deal with any man from Meereen again.
"My beauty." The slaver swallowed, approaching the silver-haired songbird he thought was already in his grasp. He reached out a hand...
The beauty took the initiative, touching his face. Her fingers were slender, but calloused. He'd assumed it was due to a poor background.
Then, there was no then.
By the time the play "The Door" ended, the actors took their bows, and the audience dispersed like the receding tide, his attendants and bodyguards hadn't seen their master leave the box. They guessed the master was entangled with another woman. When they finally lifted the curtain, they found the heavy scent of spices masking the smell of blood. His throat was cut, and the blood had already drained. His lower parts were gone. Most horrifyingly, his entire face had been sliced off.
Having completed all his tasks and acquired a face, Viserys, feeling pleased with himself, had already vanished into the crowd. But he didn't know that in another luxurious box, the Braavosi officials accompanying their guests had seen him from above when he was selling flowers.
"The Seven preserve us! A girl with Valyrian blood! She's beautiful!" the Duchess of Storm's End exclaimed. "Look at her gait, light and graceful, and her bearing is elegant, certainly not from the streets. Quick! Probably a tragic past, a bankrupt noble? Go invite her up!"
The girl disappeared in a flash. Viserys, who knew how to quickly conceal himself after completing a task, was, of course, impossible to find. However, the Baratheon couple, who had come from afar, saw hope. They had to find this stunningly beautiful girl in Braavos and bring her back to King's Landing. She would be the King's favored Crown Princess!
"If he doesn't like her, we can introduce her to our son, Robert," the Duchess said. "He probably... can't find a good match in Westeros anymore, so marrying someone like this wouldn't be bad."
So, a month later, Aerys II Targaryen on the Iron Throne received a letter from the Duke and Duchess of Storm's End, sent from Essos. The letter stated they had indeed seen a beautiful young girl with silver hair and purple eyes, a perfect Valyrian bloodline, and an ideal Crown Prince's bride. They would bring the young lady before the King and his son, and her beauty and grace would surely illuminate the Red Keep.
Heh heh ha ha. Aerys II Targaryen laughed with a nervous satisfaction. Rhaegar Targaryen, on the other hand, remained expressionless. He had endured enough of his father's ravings, accusing him of killing Viserys Targaryen. How could a man growing increasingly mad continue to govern a kingdom? He planned to convene a special council to make the King's condition known, and then, to hold a Grand Council to reform the government.
...
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(End Chapter)